Forbidden Touch

Chapter Eleven

Maddox stared at Iris, not believing what he was hearing. "You're not thinking of going undercover for him."

"What if I can help uncover a terrorist plot?"

He shook his head, "Who do you think you are, Mata Hari?"

Her lips tightened. "Quinn thinks I can help."

"Quinn's willing to use you. He's not looking at you as a partner in crime fighting, darling."

She slumped forward, her elbows resting on her knees. "I just want to find Sandrine. Then we can go home."

"I don't think that's on Quinn's agenda."

"That's his problem."

"It's your problem, too, if you work for him." He leaned forward, the movement making his ribs scream with agony. "Ever seen the handiwork of a terrorist attack up close and personal? It's not pretty. You don't want to be on the receiving end."

"Have you?" she countered.

He looked away from her, raking his fingers through his sleep-knotted hair. "Yes."

She was silent long enough to draw his gaze. A look of understanding glimmered in her eyes, "The embassy siege in Kaziristan?" she guessed. "That's how you know Mr. Darcy. And Quinn. You were all there, weren't you?"

"Yeah. We were."

"You were a diplomat?"

The disbelief in her voice made him laugh, despite the fact that humor was the last thing he felt at the moment. "I was part of the Marine Security Guard at the embassy."

Her lips quirked. She reached out and toyed with a piece of his overlong hair. "You with a buzz cut," she murmured.

He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles before letting it go. "You wouldn't have recognized me back then"

"Do you have any photos from that time?"

"No," he lied.

He took a deep breath. "Quinn was attached to the embassy, undercover, as a translator. Darcy was an assistant to the embassy RSO, Harlan Brand "

Just saying Harlan's name still hurt, after all this time. He'd been one of the first to die, in a rocket attack outside the embassy. He'd died trying to protect the ambassador. A hero to the end.

He lifted his hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. His battered ribs howled in protest, making him catch his breath.

Iris released a soft gasp. He looked up and found her brow wrinkled with pain.

"Sorry." His stomach knotting, he rose and crossed to the French doors, putting distance between them.

She followed him to the window, closing her fingers around his wrist. He felt an odd sensation, as if she were drawing him into her, molecule by molecule, "It's okay. I'm used to it."

He pulled his hand away. "I'm not."

She looked away, her face lifted to the pale dawn light seeping through the rain forest outside. "I'm sorry you went through that nightmare. It must have been terrible for you."

The pull of her hadn't ceased just because she'd let go of his hand. He leaned close enough to feel her warmth and pointed to the mountain visible through the glass. "Mount Stanley."

She pressed her nose to the glass like a child. "Strange how you go from a beach to a rain forest on such a small island," she said, apparently content to drop the subject of Kaziristan for now, "I can see why you love it enough to stay."

He chuckled, unnerved by his reaction to her. Not the sexual part; that was predictable. She was a pretty woman in a black silk bathrobe, standing close enough to kiss. But this other feeling, this strange amalgam of admiration and giddy pleasure scared the hell out of him.

He didn't want her to leave. He'd never felt that way about any woman he'd ever brought here.

"How do you afford this place?" she asked.

He wondered how much to tell her. He didn't like to talk about the money. He'd done nothing to earn it, and he had no desire to explain the tainted circumstances of his inheritance, "I came into some money a while back," he compromised.

She turned to look at him. "An inheritance?"

He gazed at the mist-shrouded peak of Mount Stanley, "Yeah."

She didn't say anything else. As the silence between them stretched, he turned his gaze to find her looking up at the mountain, her eyes shimmering with the pale light of dawn.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Yes." She looked at him. "But don't go to any trouble."

The curve of her cheek gleamed like fine porcelain. He touched her face with his knuckles, almost surprised to find her flesh warm and soft. Her lips trembled apart.

The need to kiss her shook him like a hard wind. Dropping his hand, he backed away, his heart pounding. He entered the kitchen, putting the breakfast bar between them. "I have toast and…toast."

"I'll have toast." Laughter colored her voice.

He dared a look at her and immediately regretted it. She was tempting enough pale and serious, well-slept and smiling, she was dangerous territory. But as she sat on one of the stools on the other side of the breakfast bar, her smile faded. "Maddox, what happened to you?"

He knew what she was asking-what had happened to the spit-and-polish Marine he used to be? How had he ended up in the tropics working odd jobs, cutting all ties to his former life? He should have known she wouldn't drop the subject of Kaziristan permanently.

"You can't get away from who you really are in the end, Iris. You can try on a different kind of life, but it just doesn't stick." He reached for the pieces of toast that popped up from the toaster, but Iris's words stopped him.

"Who is it that you think you are? Some rough, tough guy who doesn't like to be tied down or care about anyone too much?"

"You tell me. You have it all figured out."

She slid off the stool and walked around the counter to join him, standing too close for his peace of mind. He didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to want someone as much as he had begun to want her. Nothing good could come of it.

"Kaziristan must have been terrible. Something like that can make you question-"

"Stop it. Iris." He slammed his hand on the counter, relishing the sting in his palm because it distracted him from the queasy knot in the pit of his stomach. "I don't want to talk about it. Talking doesn't change anything. It doesn't undo what happened. It doesn't make any of it go away."

She took a step toward him, trapping him against the counter. She lifted her hand to his chest, placing her palm over his heart. "I can make some of it go away," she whispered.

He felt a tingling sensation in the skin beneath her palm, as if she were drawing his heart out of his chest into her hand. Her brow furrowed, her eyes darkened with pain, but she pressed her hand even harder against his chest.

He stared at her, understanding seeping into his sluggish mind. "It's not just physical pain you can feel," he whispered. He pushed her away from him, stumbling out of the kitchen.

"Let me help you." she said.

"No!" He hunched his back to her, shaking with horror. What had she felt? What had she taken out of him into herself? "You had no right-"

"It's not like mind reading." she said, tears coloring her voice, "I don't know what you're thinking."

"Just what I'm feeling. That's so much better."

"Not even that. Not really. I can just feel that you're hurting and learn to make it better." Her voice broke, "Please, let me make it better for you."

He made himself look at her. Tears stung his eyes, making him blink. "I don't want you to feel what I feel. It's my pain. Mine. I didn't say you could take any of it from me."

She stared at him, her eyes bright with moisture. "You want to hurt? Why? Do you think you deserve it or something?"

He looked away, restless energy flooding his aching body. He crossed to the coffee table and picked up the phone. "You're going home. Today."

"No, I'm not." Iris said, her voice hard as steel.

"Well, you're not staying here. And you're not going back to the St. George." He checked the phone's memory and found the last incoming number. Darcy's cell number. Punching Redial, he waited for the RSO to answer.

"Darcy."

"It's me. Iris would like to take you up on the offer of another hotel room. Can you arrange it?"

"Maddox-" Iris began.

He held up his hand, silencing her. She snapped her lips shut, glaring at him. He turned his back to her.

"I'll book her a room at the Princeton." Darcy said. "I assume you know where that is?"

"Yeah. She'll be there in an hour."

"You do realize the embassy cannot foot the bill for this."

"Yes, I realize that. I'll take care of it."

"May I ask what has happened to lead to this change in plans?" Darcy asked.

"No, you may not." Maddox hung up the phone, slamming the receiver into the cradle.

"I never figured you for a coward." Iris said.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to acknowledge her remark.

"Fine. You run. I'll be in the bedroom, packing." She brushed past him, her warm, lush scent lingering as she slammed the bedroom door behind her.

Maddox dropped to the sofa, closing his eyes. His head was pounding with pent-up anger. Who was she to come into his house and poke her nose into his business?

The bedroom door creaked open a few minutes later, and he heard Iris's soft footsteps approach, "I'm sorry. I went too far. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"Doesn't matter." he said, blessed numbness settling over him like a blanket. "This was a doomed situation from the get-go. I knew it as soon as Darcy suggested it."

"Too much like moss on your rolling stone?" she asked.

He managed a wry smile. "Exactly."

Iris set her suitcase next to the coffee table and sat across from Maddox in one of the armchairs. "You don't need to drive me. I called a cab from the bedroom. They'll be here in a few minutes."

He pushed himself off the sofa, concentrating on the pain in his ribs to keep from thinking about the darker pain in the center of his chest. "Tell them to take you to the Princeton. Darcy'll be waiting."

He crossed to the kitchen counter and pulled the toast from the toaster. It was already cold. He sighed and dropped the bread on the counter.

He felt Iris move closer to him. "I appreciate your watching out for me last night." she said. "I felt safe here. Thank you for that."

He closed his eyes, wishing he could shut out her words as easily. "You weren't safe at the St. George. That's all."

"I know" Her voice came out low and tight. "You've helped me a lot over the past couple of days. I just want you to know that I'm grateful."

He sighed, "I didn't do anything."

She touched his back, her fingers pressing lightly into the bruises on his rib cage. "Yes, you did." Her hand fell away.

The sound of a horn honking outside made Maddox start. He looked over his shoulder at Iris. "There's your ride." He attempted a smile, hoping it didn't look as sick as he felt.

She retrieved her bag and started toward the door. Maddox caught up with her, realizing he was letting his own conflicted emotions override his good sense. Anybody could be outside waiting for her in that cab, including Quinn.

Or TahirMahmoud.

"I'll walk you out." he said, taking the bag from her. He nodded for her to get behind him.

She inclined her head and fell into step behind him, smart enough not to argue. He relaxed a little when he caught sight of Abner Toulouse behind the wheel of the cab.

He and Abner had shot a few tables in the past. He was a good man. "Screw Loose!" He shook Abner's hand as the cabbie got out to help Iris with her bags.

"Maddox. Who knocked you around, man?" Abner put the bags in the trunk of the cab and cocked his head, a grin spreading across his wizened features.

"Should've seen the other guy." Maddox answered.

"Yeah, yeah, you the big guy." Abner clapped him on the shoulder. Maddox tried not to wince.

Iris opened the back door but stopped before she got into the backseat. She looked at Maddox. "I guess I won't be the seeing you again, so, goodbye. Thanks again for everything."

A dull pain started to spread through his chest, stealing his breath, but he pushed it down deep inside him. He didn't want her to feel it and get the wrong idea. "Be careful. Iris. Think about getting on the next plane home, like I said."

"I will." she said. He could tell it was a lie. She had no intention of leaving until she found her friend.

He made himself back away from her before he tried to stop her from leaving. She wasn't his problem anymore. She never should have been.

Abner gave a short wave and drove away, splattering mud behind him. Maddox watched until the cab disappeared around the curve and was gone from sight.

"Better this way" he murmured aloud, as if voicing the idea would make it so.

He walled slowly back to his front door and sank onto the bottom step, groaning at the agony in his twisted knee. He focused on the pain racing up his leg and into his lower belly, welcoming the burning sensation. Anything beat the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you certain you would rather remain here on the island than return home?" Nicholas Darcy asked from the doorway of Iris's new hotel room.

She turned to look at him. He looked so uncomfortable, standing stiff and formal in the doorway. He hadn't even followed her inside, just set her bag on the floor by the door. "I have to keep trying to find out where Sandrine is."

"I thought you knew where she was. Isn't she part of that focus group from the convention?"

"I think there's more to it."

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "What?"

She couldn't tell him about Quinn, even if Darcy knew who the man was. She had no idea about security clearances or what constituted classified information, so she kept her mouth shut.

"I see." Darcy said after a moment of silence, "Very well. You have my phone number if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any further trouble, I will do whatever I can to help you out."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. For everything."

He gave a small wave and left, closing the door behind him.

Iris sat on the end of the bed and released a long, slow breath. Now what? She pulled the list of names from her purse and looked at them again. Fight names. An even number-was that significant?

Something Sharon Phelps had said the night of the cocktail party ran through her mind. She'd mentioned that Dr.Grinkov was interested in-how had she put it? Synchronized paranormality? Synchronized suggested more than one person would be involved.

But involved in what?

Feeling restless, she crossed to the window. Unlike her room at the St. George, this hotel room looked out on the street below. She squinted against the bright morning light and peered at the store fronts below. The area looked familiar. Had she been there before?

Then she spotted the faded blue-and-dun sign on the front of one of the buildings-the Sand Dollar Cafe, the Internet cafe Maddox had taken her to the other day. Perfect.

Within ten minutes, she was seated atone of the cafe's computer terminals, a cup of steaming coffee at her elbow. She laid her list of names in front of her and started searching.

The first thing she ascertained, pretty quickly, was that of the eight names on the list, only one had a Web site: Celia Shore. None of the others had a Web presence.

However, within a half hour, she'd managed to find all eight people on the list Sharon had given her, and a pattern began to emerge.

She'd apparently been right about what Sharon had meant by synchronized paranormality. The eight names could be split into four groups of two, based on the purported paranormal specialty of the people on the list. There were two clairvoyants, two telekinetics, two mediums and two empaths.

Well, one empathy, since Celia Shore had been a fake.

But what was the significance of the two groups of four? Where did the synchronicity come in?

She tucked the list into the small notebook she kept in her purse and sat back, frowning at the computer screen. There had to be a reason Dr.Grinkov had selected this particular set of people for whatever he had up his sleeve.

Quinn thought terrorists were involved, but Iris couldn't see why, much less how. And until the ClA agent approached her again, there wasn't a lot she could do, was there?

She'd called the St. George to see if Celia Shore's death had affected the conference schedule. The events coordinator told her that the morning sessions had been cancelled, but the conference would resume after 1 p.m. She had a few' hours to kill between now and then.

She started to shut down the computer but stopped, pulling up the search engine page again. She typed in "Maddox Heller" and hit enter. Several links popped up.

The first one caught her eye: Concerned Citizens for Maddox Heller.

Curious, she clicked on the link and began reading.

Poseidon's Courtyard lacked the ambiance and central location necessary to make it popular with tourists, but locals like Maddox had long since learned about the restaurant's ample portions and friendly service. And everybody loved Moira Reyes, the pretty blond proprietress, whose Tennessee drawl was as authentic as the Southern-style barbecue she and her husband Juan served in their restaurant.

Moira opened the door to Maddox's knock, took one look at his battered face and let out a low whistle. "Good God, what happened to you?"

"Ran into a door." he answered with a smirk,

"Right." To his relief, she dropped the subject, stepping aside to let him in. "Sweetie, it's barely ten. Juan just got the pit fired up, Hope you're not hungry yet."

"Just thought I'd pop in and say hi while I was in the neighborhood"

He didn't tell her what he was doing in the neighborhood. He didn't even want to admit it to himself. In fact, if the shell-pink facade of the Princeton Hotel wasn't staring at him over the treetops beyond the patio, he might even believe it was just a coincidence. But the truth was, he was worried about Iris and kicking himself for running her off from his house when she was obviously in danger.

He sat at a table near the barbecue pit and watched Juan basting the meat already on the grill. "What's up, Juanito?"

Juan flashed him a grin. "My blood pressure, 'memo. La mujerona, she nags and nags." He softened his complaint with a look of sheer adoration at his wife.

"Yeah, I hear women do that." Maddox drawled.

"If we all weren't so damned flawed, maybe we wouldn't have to ride your butts so hard," Moira set a glass of iced tea in front of Maddox and sat across from him. "What you need is a good woman, Maddox."

'"You just think everybody needs to And his own Juan or Juanita." He grimaced. "Doesn't always happen."

"Well, far be it from me to butt in where I don't belong-"

Maddox couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, fine." Moira conceded with a grin. "It's my usual M.O. But you're not happy. Maddox, Are you?"

He knew better than to answer the question,

A soft thudding sound drew Moira's gaze to the door. "Don't people read the hours we have posted in the window anymore?" She headed to the front to see who was knocking,

"Moira's right." Juan said, not turning away from the barbecue pit. "You wouldn't be sitting here looking like somebody ran over your dog if you really liked being alone. I don't know why you fight so hard to stay that way."

Maddox had no answer, so he remained silent, letting his gaze wander across the courtyard to the adobe walk half swallowed by a flowering vine. Beyond the wall, past a line of small palm trees, the Princeton lazed in the hot Caribbean sun.

He wondered what Iris was doing right now. A faint memory of her scent drifted to him on the warm breeze. He closed his eyes and pictured her the way she'd looked this morning, standing at the French doors before everything had gone to hell. He could feel the pull of her, that band around his heart drawing him to her.

"Maddox, you have a visitor."

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Moira's voice. Moira stood in the doorway. Iris Browning by her side.

"Maddox." Iris said, her eyes dark with apprehension.

"Hey, brown eyes." He pasted on a knowing grin, hoping it hid the twisting in his gut. "Just couldn't get enough of me?"